


All in Good Time

by cant_deny_the_johnlock_ship



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, john/sherlock - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:49:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2168133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cant_deny_the_johnlock_ship/pseuds/cant_deny_the_johnlock_ship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sherlock at the hospital after being shot. John stays with him until he wakes up. Words are spoken. Confessions are made.</p>
    </blockquote>





	All in Good Time

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock at the hospital after being shot. John stays with him until he wakes up. Words are spoken. Confessions are made.

Sherlock awoke to a dull ache in his abdominal and a presence in his left hand. His eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the harsh bright-white lights of the hospital. He shifted his head to the side. In his left hand was another. Darker in tone, rougher in texture and in contrast with his pale soft skin.

Sherlock's head was still clearing but a single word appeared in his head. _John._ He looked from the hand clutching his own to the sleeping figure attached to it. His face was resting on Sherlock's thigh, his breathing low and even, his hand still firmly holding his even in sleep.

Sherlock felt himself smile, the corners of his lips drawing upwards. It was an odd sensation. Sherlock hardly ever smiled. Genuinely, that is. But with John, he always felt himself smiling without even noticing until it was too late to hide it. Never forced. Never thought of. Just  _there_ . 

Sherlock lightly ran his thumb over John's hand which immediately caused the muscles in John's hand to strain, his eyelashes to flutter. A groan escaped his lips. He lifted his head to look up at Sherlock. As soon as he saw him, his muscles relaxed.

“Sherlock,” he murmured. He looked down at their hands, removed his and placed it against Sherlock's forehead. “How are you feeling?”

Sherlock tried to sit up which caused a tightness in his chest that took his breath away.

_God, it hurt so much._

John gently pushed him back down with his other hand. “You were shot, Sherlock. Its going to take time for the pain to subside. Rest for now.”

After checking the machines Sherlock was hooked up to, his pulse, and whether or not he had a fever, he sat back down staring back at him. His eyes were rimmed with shadows, he hadn't slept for very long it seemed. He was dressed in the same clothes he was wearing when they broke into Magnussen's office but judging by the lack of light coming from the curtained windows, it was close to dawn. A new day. Which meant John hadn’t left his bedside since he'd arrived.

“Where's Mary?” Sherlock asked.

“She went home. I told her I'd spend the night watching over you.”

“Why?”Sherlock wondered, his eyebrows coming together. _Sentiment?_

John's forehead crinkled. “Why?” he repeated.

“Yes, John, _why_?”

He laughed but there was no humor to it. “Sherlock you were _shot._ Someone shot you, tried to kill you. You think I'd leave you alone knowing that person is still out there?”

Sherlock swallowed. His mouth was dry, raspy. If it were anyone else, he'd tell them how ridiculous that sounded. Why would the shooter come back? After escaping unseen and getting away with a crime, why would they risk it to come back and kill him? And if they really wanted him dead, they would've shot him right then and there while he was unconscious on the floor. Shot a bullet right through his skull.

But this wasn't just anyone.

This was _John_.

And no matter how ridiculous it sounded to Sherlock, it meant he cared. He cared enough to stay. Sacrificed the comfort of his own bed for a uncomfortable wooden chair. Sacrificed the warmth of his own house for a freezing hospital room. Just for him. Just to make sure he was safe.

“No, I don't think you would.” Sherlock replied.

There was a hint of a smile. A bit of light in John's eyes. They faded slowly, as he let out a sigh he seemed to be holding in.

“Sherlock,” he began.

“Mm?” Sherlock looked down at his lap, trying to purposely avoid John's gaze. He was after all about to lie to him.

“You were shot in the chest.” A pause. Thinking, contemplating. “Meaning you were facing your attacker.”

Good deduction, my dear John. “Yes, I must have.”

John licked his lips. Waited for him to go further. When he didn't, he pressed. “Who was it then? Who shot you?”

Sherlock inhaled loudly and said, “I'm afraid I don't know. I don't remember. Bits and pieces here and there.”

John nodded slowly but decided to leave it as is. All that mattered now, at this very moment, was that Sherlock was _safe_. Out of harm's way.

“Right then,” John said, placing his hands on his lap. Sherlock finally looked up, meet the doctor's eyes. John held his gaze then slowly exhaled.

“You do know whats happened?”

“I've been shot, yes. I gathered.” Sherlock smirked.

John chuckled. Then his face turned deathly serious. “You almost _died_.”

Sherlock's lips pressed together. He felt his heart beat painfully against his chest. Not because he had almost died, he hardly cared whether he lived or not, but because he had almost left John.

He blinked. “Yes.”

John came forward, so close their faces were merely inches apart. “I almost lost you, you know that?”

He stared at Sherlock a moment. Sherlock held his gaze. “I thought..” John trailed off, breaking eye contact. He cleared his throat. Looked back up, realized Sherlock was still staring at him, waiting for him to continue. His clear blue eyes held his. “I thought I was too late.”

Sherlock swallowed but apart from that small gesture he had not moved a single muscle. John held his gaze, letting his words sink in before he continued. “You had lost so much blood. So much. I thought..” He shook his head, involuntarily retreating into his memories.

“ _Sherlock,” He pleaded, softly slapping the side of his face in an attempt to wake him up. He was unconscious, that much he was aware of but_ why _?_

_His head snapped around to face Magnuseen as he shouted, “What happened?”_

“ _He got shot,” he responded matter-of-fact._

_He got shot. Shot. Oh, god, no. No. He shoved aside his suit jacket, revealing just that. He remembered how vivid the color looked compared to his pale complexion. It made his stomach churn._

John fought back tears, blinking them away. “You were barely breathing.”

Sherlock grabbed his hand suddenly and squeezed. John looked down at it curiously. He meet his eyes, tearing now falling freely down his face. “I'm here now, John,” Sherlock said, his voice reassuring.

John nodded, his lips set into a tight line. “Yes. Right. You're here.” He nodded again, as if barely realizing it himself.

He wiped away his tears with his free hand. Sherlock smiled at him. “You didn't really think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?”

John laughed lightly, relieving some of the tension in his chest. Sherlock's smile widened, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

“You haven't slept,” Sherlock noted.

“I was,” John replied.

“Not properly,” Sherlock countered. “There are shadows around your eyes. You haven't changed, meaning you've been here since I arrived. Its almost sunrise and you haven't slept.”

John shrugged. “I'm fine, Sherlock.”

He searched John's face. He looked utterly tired. His shoulders were slumped. “Go home,” Sherlock said. “Get some rest.”

John shook his head before he could even finish. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“You belong at home, John. With Mary.”

“I belong here,” John said firmly, “With you.”

Sherlock looked at him curiously, trying to comprehend what he had said.

John sighed. “I lost you once. I was without you for _two years_. There's no way I'm going to let you leave again.”

Sherlock felt his heart flutter, his stomach flip-flop. “John,” he started. He needed to make him believe what he was about to say because he knew how much he had hurt John by leaving him. He wasn't aware of it before, but seeing how he reacted to his return and seeing him now it showed clearly on his face. So he said his next words slowly, firmly, and with every intention of staying true to them.“I'm not going anywhere.”

John's lips parted. He held Sherlock's gaze. He held onto his hand. He held onto his words. “Promise me,” he said softly.

“I promise you.” Sherlock said without hesitation.

He hardly noticed when John's fingers intertwined with his. He was too focused on _John_. His eyebrows were crinkled, as if he was debating something in his mind. His lips were slightly parted. His eyes were focused on Sherlock.

Sherlock suddenly realized how close they were. Their faces just inches from each other, their noses almost touching. He could feel John's breath against his cheek. John suddenly closed the remaining space between them, pressed his lips against Sherlock's. Soft. Firm. _Eager._ Sherlock melted under the kiss, his lips parting subconsciously, deepening the kiss. John moaned softly. Then as suddenly as it had happened, it was over.

Sherlock took a moment to regain his composure. Then he looked up at John, but John wasn't looking at him. He had got up from the chair, was staring at the ground, the back of his hand covering his lips. His eyebrows were scrunched together, his other hand was holding onto the chair as though it was his only support. His knuckles were turning white..

“John?” Sherlock whispered.

John shook his head, his eyes shutting, his body angling away from him.

“Talk to me,” Sherlock heard himself say.

John withdrew his hand from his face and dared a look at Sherlock. He bit his lip. “I'm sorry,” he muttered, “I shouldn't have-”

His voice broke.

He didn't go further.

He didn't have to.

“Why not?”

John looked at him in confusion. “ _Why not?_ ” he repeated.

Sherlock sat up, ignoring the agonizing pain coming from his chest and lower abdominal. He gritted his teeth before continuing. “I don't see why you should be sorry. In fact, I don't see why you think you shouldn't have kissed me.”

John titled his head, his forehead crinkling again. He moved closer. Stood his ground.“I'm _married_ , Sherlock.”

“I'm aware of that,” Sherlock replied.

John looked at him in disbelief. He blinked.

“John, we both knew this was going to happen. I would've preferred sooner, preferably before you got married, but it happened. It was going to happen.”

John was shaking his head. “I didn't.”

“You didn't what?”

“I didn't know.” John whispered.

Sherlock's eyebrows raised. “You do now.”

“I'm with Mary,” John said.

_Mary._ Ah, yes. The woman who shot him. Sherlock opened his mouth, was about to tell him just the type of woman he was married too, but decided against it. He shut his mouth before he could say anything. 

“I'm not gay,” John muttered, his voice slightly breaking.

Sherlock felt his stomach drop. He's heard him say it enough times before but this time it cut deeper into him than he ever thought possible. But he wouldn't let him get away with this one. Not this time.

“And yet here we are.”

“Listen to me,” John hissed, “I am _not_ gay.”

“Then come here.” Sherlock said.

John was taken aback. “What?”

“Come. Here.” Sherlock repeated.

“I don't understand.”

Sherlock looked at him a moment. “Let's test it. If you're really not gay, you shouldn't have any problem with testing that theory.”

“Its not a theory,” John said defensively.

“Prove it.”

John hesitated. Moved closer. “What do you want me to do?”

“Come here.” Sherlock's eyes were fixed on his, piercing into him. Fierce, wild, calm, sure.

John moved closer still, unsure of what he was going to do. Then again, he was never sure when it came to Sherlock.

He kneeled in order to be face to face with Sherlock and stopped. Sherlock hadn't taken his eyes off him and now they just stared at each other.

“Closer,” Sherlock whispered.

John felt his breath catch in his throat but he did as he was told. His stomach was pressed up against the bed, his face just inches away from his. Sherlock's eyes held John's. He suddenly raised a hand and snaked it around John's neck. John shuddered at the sudden touch. His fingers were cold, sending shivers down his spine.

“Closer,” Sherlock said again, his voice barely a whisper.

John complied. Their noses were now touching, eyes locked, Sherlock's hand still around John's neck. Sherlock's eyes trailed down to John's lips and he suddenly tugged at his neck. John groaned and closed the distance between them, his lips smashing against Sherlock's.

Sherlock let out a gasp, he didn't think it would be that easy but he wasn't complaining. His hand trailed up and caught in John's hair. John moaned in his mouth and Sherlock took that second to grab his bottom lip and suck softly. John stiffened, his own hands now on Sherlock's shoulders. He bite down and John groaned, sending shivers down Sherlock's spine. He let go of his lip and softly brushed his tongue over it. John's fingers dug into his shoulders, sending a wave of pleasure through Sherlock that radiated across his body.

John brought his mouth back on Sherlock's, desperately and with full force. His hands traveled up until they caught a hold of Sherlock's curls and John pulled. Sherlock let out a gasp in surprise and moaned when he began running his hands through his hair. Sherlock brought his hands down to cup John's face as his lips moved in time with his.

Sherlock suddenly pulled away, his breathing coming out in little gasps. “As much as I would like to continue where this is going, I do recall that I am injured and not in the best shape to proceed,” he said breathlessly.

John smiled and chuckled lightly. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

He gently removed himself, his hands slowly untangling from Sherlock's hair. It took every ounce of willpower for Sherlock not to grab him and bring him back down. John stood their for a second, staring at him.

Sherlock smirked. “You failed miserably.”

“Did I?” John challenged.

He nodded. “You could've stopped me.”

“Now why would I want to do that?” John half smiled.

“You're lucky I'm in this hospital bed,” Sherlock said.

John's eyebrows rose.“Really?”

He nodded. “The things I want to do to you, I _would_ do to you, John Watson.” He was shaking his head, feeling the heat rise up and color his cheeks.

John swallowed and said with love and lust dripping from his words, “All in good time.”

 


End file.
